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We never know how high we areTill we are called to rise;And then, if we are true to plan,Our statures touch the skies.The heroism we reciteWould be a ...more

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Much Madness is Divinest Sense, to a Discerning Eye....

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THERE is no frigate like a book/ To take us lands away...

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Split the Lark—and you'll find the Music, Bulb after Bulb, in Silver rolled.

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Consciousness is the only home of which we know.

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Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul - and sings the tunes without the words - and never stops at all.

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So bashful when I spied her!So pretty ― so ashamed!So hidden in her leafletsLest anybody find ―So breathless till I passed her ―So helpless when I tur...more

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There's a certain slant of light,On winter afternoons,That oppresses, like the weightOf cathedral tunes.

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Success is counted sweetest by those ne'er succeed.

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I measure every Grief I meetWith narrow, probing, Eyes;I wonder if It weighs like Mine,Or has an Easier size.

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Love is like the wild rose-briar;Friendship like the holly-tree.The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms,But which will bloom most constantly?The ...more

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If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry.

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The bustle in a houseThe morning after deathIs solemnest of industriesEnacted upon earth,--The sweeping up the heart,And putting love awayWe shall not...more

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PHOSPHORESCENCE. Now there's a word to lift your hat to... to find that phosphorescence, that light within, that's the genius behind poetry.

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She dealt her pretty words like Blades --How glittering they shone --And every One unbared a NerveOr wantoned with a Bone --She never deemed -- she hu...more